


The Hanging

by Ladybughanlen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybughanlen/pseuds/Ladybughanlen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - The boys are living in the Old West.  Dean gets arrested on the job and Sam comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester emerges from the dirty little Jailhouse and squints against the glare of the sun.  He pauses to let his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and is rewarded with a shove that sends him stumbling forward.  He automatically throws his manacled hands out to catch himself and manages to keep from smashing face first into the wooden pole that supports the porch roof.  

He heaves a sigh and tries to control his temper.  Under other circumstances that kind of petty bullshit would land his attacker in a world of hurt.  Today though, there isn’t much Dean can do about it.  He takes a deep breath and does his best to ignore the snort of amusement that comes from behind.   

Dean straightens up and rolls his aching shoulders.  It had been a long miserable night.  The jailhouse cot had been to short for his tall frame and with his wrists and ankles chained together he had woken up this morning stiff and sore.  

He sighs.  The cot hadn’t been the worst of it.  The total darkness of the small windowless cell had closed in on him in no time.  Dean had clamped an iron will on the panic that had threatened to overtake him and had forced himself to focus on his breathing.  He’d had managed to keep his cool, barely.  His brother was going to be thrilled to hear that those crazy meditation exercises he’d come up with had actually worked.  

Dean sighs and steps down from the porch onto the dusty street.  He tries for his normal casual swagger and fails miserably.  The shackles at his feet force him into a frustrating shuffle.  The odd gate is doing nothing to help ease the ache in his muscles.  

There are four deputies on him for the long walk to the gallows, one at each shoulder and two behind.  It’s another scorcher of a day and he can feel beads of sweat crop up on his forehead.  He wishes he still had his hat. 

The weathered scaffold stands tall at the edge of town, testament to the local Judge’s penchant for hanging.  

Dean can see a small crowd had gathered around the base of it.  Men, Women, and several children wait in silence.  They’re crowd is a sad reminder of the realities of frontier justice.  

He shakes his head.  It isn’t the first time he’s been in this position and he refuses to consider the idea that he might not make it out.  He takes a deep breath and tries to relax.  

Dean trusts Sammy to bust him loose, but he isn’t sure how his brother will pull it off.  The Sheriff and his deputies are well organized in this county and a public hanging in town this size offers a lot of variables.  Anything can happen.  

He sighs.  He could have been out hours ago if he and Sammy were willing to accept civilian casualties.  It was much easier to bust someone out of jail if killing people didn’t matter.  It just wasn’t their way.  They didn’t kill humans, even mean petty ones who liked to shove prisoners from behind.  

Dean looks down at his feet and frowns.  The dust is ruining his cleans boots.  He hates that.  

He isn’t a dandy or anything.  He just likes to be as clean as possible.  Hunting and life on the trail is a dirty, stinking, rotten business and when he isn’t chasing something nasty he likes to be well kept.  No reason to be slovenly if he can help it.    

Besides, a clean-cut appearance goes a long way toward dispelling suspicion when they ride into town.  Folks tend to be friendlier and more open when they’re speaking to a couple of clean cut young men.  Perception is always a useful tool for swaying an apprehensive mind.  

Dean sighs again.  At least the bastards that are currently marching him to his death had honored his last request for a bath and a shave.  If today was to be his last at least he’d die comfortable and clean.  He looks down again and scowls.  Except for the boots.        

As they near the scaffold the crowd starts to grow a little restless.  For a county that hangs half a dozen men a year it seems an odd reaction and he wonders at it.  Dean isn’t the first man they’ve escorted to this month and he certainly won’t be the last.  

He scans the crowd again and thinks maybe it’s just his youth.  Cold blooded killers usually have a few more miles on them before they met death in the public square.  The fact that he’s a young, handsome, and green-eyed charmer probably contributes to their unease.  

Dean snorts.  It hadn’t made a difference at the trial.  He doubts it matters now.   

He shuffles along and considers the events that brought him here.  There really isn’t much he could have done differently.  They’d been on the job and things went sideways.  Simple as that.  

Four days ago they’d gotten word from Uncle Bobby that there was Witch sign around these parts.  Dean hated Witches.  They were always bad news.  

In recent months the Witch had graduated from sacrificing small furry creatures to livestock in a bloody and conspicuous manner.  She’d finally moved on to murder about ten days ago.  Killed some sad old widower in his bed.  

Thankfully, an informed passer-by had noted a few oddities about the man’s death and sent word to Uncle Bobby.  

The old Hunter had sent Dean and Sam out to investigate.  

It hadn’t taken them very long to track the Witch down and figure out what she was up to.

Of course ending the old hag had proved more difficult than it should have been.  She’d somehow been on to them from the get go.  Their well thought out plan to catch her by surprise had ended with Dean thrown through a window and the old bag’s hands around his brother’s throat.   

The Witch had nearly chocked the life out of Sammy’s hazel eyes by the time Dean had been able to take a clean shot.  The old woman’s head had exploded with a satisfying pop and she’d crumpled to the floor.  

Despite her strength and power she was just as human as they were and a bullet to the brain had ended it.  Another evil being taken down none to soon.  

Dean had whooped in victory and kicked her body aside to reach his brother.  He’d wrapped his arms tightly around his Sammy and held on.  He whispered apologies while his brother had gasped for breath. 

No stranger to near death experiences, Sammy had recovered quickly and grinned up at Dean. 

 Dean had shaken his head and with a relieved sigh he’d pulled the taller man to his feet.  He gave Sam a quick loving kiss and an admonishment to _never_ do that again.  

Sam had chuckled and punched him in the shoulder. 

The grave digging had gone fast enough and Dean had just salted and lit the still warm corpse on fire when some Damn drunk kid had thrashed out of the woods.  

The Johnson boy, Dean later learned, had emerged from the darkness yelling and waving a gun.  He was lucky Dean had removed his own weapons to do the digging.  Otherwise the whole mess would have ended quickly with another grave.    

The way the Johnson boy told it, at Dean’s short trial, he’d had been out looking for a stray calf when he heard Mrs. Hastings screaming for help.  As an upright citizen, the boy had hastened to the old cabin to investigate and offer assistance.  

It was all bullshit.  

Dean had smelled whiskey on the kid’s breath from ten feet away and he doubted the kid could even identify the old Witch when she’d been alive.  

Dean could have dove for his own weapon that night and killed the kid on the spot.  They could have covered it up and this county would have been none the wiser.  Except they didn’t kill drunken idiots.  Instead he’d raised his hands in surrender and hoped the boy didn’t shoot him accidentally.

Thankfully Sam had just left to fetch the horses and hadn’t been seen.  As far as everyone knew Dean was a one man show.  It was their only edge.  

Dean smiles ruefully as he shuffles down the street toward the gallows.  

During the trial Dean had refused to give them his name and even stayed mute despite the Johnson kid’s fantastical tale.  The whole trial had been pointless anyway.  He’d been caught red-handed burying a body with a bullet in it’s brain and that was that.

The county Judge had put Dean on trial the minute the sun came up and sentenced him to death after lunch.  Now he was on his way to hang by the neck until dead.  

He shakes his head.  So much for helping people.  He sighs.  If only he actually was the cold hearted killer they all assumed him to be.  He could have just shot that kid and walked away without remorse.    

The hanging party arrives at the edge of town square and Dean looks up at the scaffold.  It’s nice and high.  Enough to afford the crowd an unobstructed view of the proceedings and enough to make him a little dizzy.  Perfect.  

Dean keeps his head up and tries to walk tall as he makes his way through the crowd to the stairs.  Even if they didn’t know his name the crowd will at least see a man who knows how to die well.  He’s sure as Hell not one to snivel.   

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and heaves a sigh.  The stairs are steep and barely wide enough for one man.  With the shackles it will no doubt be a hazardous climb.  He’s not inclined to attempt it if he doesn’t have to.     

Dean casts a pleasant smile toward the man near his elbow.  “You wanna remove these shackles?”  

When the man fails to reply he adds matter-of-fact.  “Wouldn’t wanna break my neck before you have the pleasure of hangin’ me.”

The Deputy to his right looks up at the Sheriff perched at the top of the stairs.  

The Sheriff scowls but fishes a key ring from his vest pocket and tosses it down.  

The Deputy bends down to unlock Dean’s shackles and tosses the keys back up.  

“Thanks.”  Dean says.  

He straightens and curbs the sudden urge to make a run for it or kick the nearest deputy in the balls for shoving him earlier.  Instead, he lifts his legs one at a time, flexes his aching knees, and mounts the stairs.    

There are twenty-three steps.  An odd number.  He’ll have to ask Sammy what that is all about.  His brother will know.  

Sam’s a real encyclopedia of the occult and superstition.  He focuses his thoughts on his brother.  It keeps his mind off the height.      

At the top of the stairs the executioner, a short balding man with a bad mustache, takes his elbow and maneuvers him to stand on top of the trap door.  

Dean rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.  He refuses to let anxiety dull his senses.  He knows Sam is out there somewhere getting ready to pull some stunt that will hopefully save his ass once again.  

He takes a few deep breaths and willed himself to relax.  If he’s certain of anything in this world it’s that Sam’s devotion is equal to his own and there was nothing they won’t do for each other. 

Looking out at the audience Dean can see the deputies that escorted him to the scaffold taking their places around the outside edge.  They look hot, sweaty, and bored.  Good.  

The Johnson kid stands off to the left.  He looks smug and self-important.  

Dean wants very much to break the kid’s nose and leave him with a permanent reminder of how careless he’d actually been with his own life.  It was a Damn good thing for the Johnson boy that Dean had chosen to be the better man.  Dumb kid had no idea how close he had came to death.  

The rest of the crowd is just regular folks out to witness justice in action.  He can’t blame them.  There isn’t a lot of entertainment in a frontier town and folks take what they can get.  

Dean favors them all with a cocky grin.  

If he’s going to die, and there’s a chance he just might, he’d rather go out on his own terms.  One way or the other it’s going to be a Hell of a show.  

While the Sheriff reads the charges and sentencing Dean scans the crowd.  He nods respectfully at the old-timers and winks and smiles at the ladies.  He wiggles his fingers at the little ones and makes goofy faces to get a smile or two out of the school kids standing closest to the scaffold. 

When the Sheriff finishes, the Preacher steps up and asked the crowd to bow their heads.  As the old grey haired man drones on about God and redemption Dean searches the rooftops for his brother.   

Sam likes to hold the high ground.  

Just because he can’t see him doesn’t mean Sam isn’t out there somewhere.    

Only something disastrous would prevent his brother from attempting to save Dean’s neck. They’d proved it time and again.  There’s no way Sammy won’t try for him.  

He takes another deep breath.  The only thing that will keep Sam away is serious injury or death and as far as he knows his brother is hail and hearty.  

Sam had gotten away free and clear.  Dean is sure of it.  He blows out a breath.

The Preacher concludes his sermon with a flourish and a round of “Amens” from the crowd.  

Dean gives him a respectful nod.  Can’t fault the man for trying.  

The Preacher returns the nod and steps back.  He looks resigned or constipated.

Dean can’t tell.  

The little bald executioner moves in and loops the rough hangman’s noose around Dean’s neck.  He’s short and has to stand on his toes to reach up and settle the rope.  

Dean smirks to cover his unease.  A rope around your neck is never a comfortable feeling.      

The executioner fiddles around at the back of the scaffold and the rope tightens as the little man pulls up the slack.  

Dean starts to sweat in earnest.  Things are moving along a little too quickly.  They don’t waste a lot of time on ceremony around here.

He works to keep his cool and does a fair job of it until the hangman returns with a black sack in hand.  He shivers and tries to steady his breathing.  It’s bad enough to stand here with a noose around his neck, but enforced darkness of a hood makes him want to panic.  

He flicked his eyes up for one more look at the sky and then he sees it.  A flash of sunlight on glass at the corner of his eye.  It’s short and barely there.  A signal from Sam meant to reassure.  It works.  

Dean tries not to tense up and give them away.  He opens and closes his fists twice to let Sam know he’s prepared to respond to whatever his brother has up his sleeve.  

Seconds later an explosion tears through the silence and takes everyone by surprise.  

Dean recovers first.  

While all eyes are turned to stare at the shattered remains of a nearby water barrel he side-steps away from the trap door and calmly removes the noose.  

Dean ignores the stunned reaction of the crowd, the ensuing scramble for cover, and the sudden shout of “Fire”.  In two quick strides he reaches the Sheriff's side and deftly snakes a six-shooter out of the man’s holster.  

The disarmed the Sheriff makes to spins around, but Dean puts a restraining hand on the older man’s shoulder and presses his newly acquired pistol against the base of his skull.  

The man immediately stills.

“Good.  Now, here’s the deal.”  Dean whispers for the Sheriff's ears only.  “My partner’s got a gun on you right now and believe me he’s one Hell of a shot.”  

Dean nods deliberately and a second later a rifle round thunks into the soft wood of the scaffolding just an inch or two above the Sheriff's head.  

The older man jerks and swears.  

In the chaos below most fail to notice the rifle report and those that do look around in confusion before turning back to the more pressing problem of fire.      

Dean grins and growls.  “That was just a warning Old Man.”  

The Sheriff takes a deep breath and nods.  

“You make a wrong move and my partner won’t hesitate to blow your head off.”  

Dean waits until the Sheriff acknowledges the threat with another nod.  

“Good man.”  Dean claps him on the shoulder.  “Our business in this county is done.  We took care of a problem you didn’t know you had and now we’ll be on our way.”  

He scans the area.  

Most of the women and children are off the street.  Good.  

“Okay now.”  Dean grins.  “This is the way it’s going to go.”  

While he talks he breaks open the Sheriff's revolver and pockets the bullets.  He slips the gun back into the man’s holster, taps him on the shoulder, and steps back a little.  

Dean affect a casual non-threatening posture.  

The Sheriff grunts and clears his throat. 

“All right now.”  The Sheriff calls out.  “Simmer down.”  

The deputies that are directing the firefighting effort turns their attention to the Sheriff.  

“Looks like we’ll be postponing the hanging until we get that in hand.”  The Sheriff inclines his head toward the fire.  He turns and takes a firm hold of Dean’s elbow.  “You men keep a look out for anymore trouble while I take this one back to the Jailhouse.”  

A couple of deputies form a protective shield around those focused on the fire.  Fire can easily become a frontier town’s worse enemy and it’s best to stamp it out as quickly as possible.  The bucket brigade might actually have a shot at saving the building if they kept at it.  

Dean’s glad that Sam hadn’t gone too overboard with the dynamite.  No reason to burn the whole place down.  

The Preacher and the executioner scramble down the stairs.  

The Sheriff follows with one hand on the chain between Dean’s manacles.  At the foot of the stairs the Sheriff pauses and picks up the discarded shackles.  

Dean takes the opportunity to scan the area again.  As far as he can make out all the deputies are present and accounted for.  Most of the civilians had either left, are staying hidden, or fighting the fire.  So far Sam’s plan seems to be working well enough.   

The Sheriff is certainly doing his part, but the man isn’t a fool and Dean is sure that the older man will deny him the opportunity to ride away if he can.  The Sheriff grabs Dean by the elbow again and heads toward the Jailhouse at a swift pace.  It takes a lot less time to travel back.  

Halfway down the street Dean leans toward the Sheriff.   “Time to use that key again.”  He raises his wrists and gives the older man a meaningful look.

The Sheriff grumbles, but slings the shackles over his shoulder and uses his free hand to reach across and unlock Dean’s manacles while they walked.  

Dean resists the urge to fling the irons away.  He keeps his arms bent to maintain the illusion for anyone following their progress and keeps walking. 

As they approached the Jailhouse he catches a slight movement off to the side.  He slides his eyes to the alley between buildings and grins at his Baby.  

She’s was waiting patiently in the shade between the Jailhouse and the Hotel.  Her tail twitches, but otherwise she looks like any other horse asleep on her feet.  

Dean grins and lets the Sheriff steer them onto the porch.

“Well here we are.”  The old man announces clearly irritated at the circumstances.  “What now?”

Dean throws him a cocky grin.  “Now we put on a good show for your constituents.”  

The Sheriff frowns at that.

“Wouldn’t want you to lose face Sheriff.”  Dean explains.  “Gotta maintain that sterling reputation of yours.”  

The old man huffs in disgust.        

Dean just grins in return.  He drapes the manacles around his neck.  “I’ll just keep these for you.  Give your boys the right impression about my miraculous escape.”  He reaches up and makes as if to pat the old man on the shoulder again.  

The Sheriff stands still and glares.  

Dean flashes a polite smile right before he knocks the man’s hat off and grabs the Sheriff’s arm.  He gives it a painful twist and the Sheriff hisses in pain.

Dean shoves the man forward hard and the Sheriff’s forehead strikes the solid wood door frame of the Jailhouse none too gently.  

The old man groans and drops to his knees.  He’s dazed and shaking.  

Dean snatches the man’s pistol and steps back.  He quickly re-loaded it with the bullets he removed earlier.  He sets the gun carefully on the deck rail and ensures it’s well out of reach.  

“Okay Sheriff.”  He says with a smile.  “One more scene in this little play of ours.”  

Dean pats the man on the shoulder again.  He almost feels bad about the head bump, but not quite.  

The Sheriff and his men had been far too eager to see him hanged.   

“I’m going to high tail it out of this county and never look back.”  Dean tells the older man.  “Rest assured my partner and I won’t cause you anymore trouble.”  

The Sheriff snorts, but makes no move to escape.  

Dean nods.  “You stay right here while I make my exit and when you can get to your feet you go ahead and make a good show of firing your pistol.”  

“You Bastard!”  The Sheriff chokes out.  “I’ll hunt you down boy.  Make no mistake.”  

The old man’s hands twitch and clench into frustrated fists, but Dean can tell he’s a breath away from passing out.  

“You’ll try.”  Dean chuckles a little.  He can’t help it.  Better men and worse monsters have tried to kill him and failed miserably.  

Dean turns and whistles softly.  

Baby immediately appears from around the corner of the Jailhouse and trots up to the steps.  She tosses her head and snorts.  

He steps up and rubs her velvety nose.  

She nickers softly.  

Dean’s hat s hanging from the saddle horn and he plops in on his head grateful for the cover.  His holster and guns are next.  With a couple quick adjustments he feels more like himself.  He steps into the stirrup and swings into the saddle.  

Baby tosses her head and prances about impatient to be gone.  

Dean grins down at the Sheriff who’s still on his knees and looking a little worse for wear.  “Do your best now to make them believe it.”  

The Sheriff scowls.  “Bastard.”

Dean gives Baby a nudge and they’re off and running.  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester keeps his rifle pointed squarely at the Sheriff's chest and watches the man struggle to his feet.  

The Sheriff sways drunkenly for a minute before he bends to pick up his hat.  He almost bites the dust, but he manages to save himself and straighten.  He slaps the hat on his head with a look of stubborn determination.     

Sam has to admire the guy.  His brother is a strong man and that is one Hell of a knot on the Sheriff’s head.  Anyone else might have been knocked cold.  

The Sheriff’s a tough old bird though and he pulled himself together.  He reaches for his gun, stumbles out into the street, and unloaded.  

Thankfully, Dean and Baby have already disappeared from view.  

Sam doesn’t wait around to see the rest.  He scoots back from the edge of the hotel roof and drops down onto the back balcony.  He shoulders his rifle, climbs over the rail, and quietly lowered himself down to the street.  

Jess, his big bay mare, sidles up to him and nudges his lower back.  

Sam gave her an affectionate pat and stows his rifle in the saddle scabbard.  He takes one final look around the back street and swings into the saddle.  He turns Jess into the trees and guides her away from the town in the opposite direction of Dean’s escape.    

The Sheriff will be sure to detain any strangers in the area and he can’t risk being seen now. 

Sam keeps his eyes open for unexpected threats and when he’s a fair distance away he gives Jess a gentle squeeze.

She breaks into an easy canter.  

The Sheriff will get the word out soon, but with any luck Sam will be long gone before any organized search effort can get underway.  

Pleased at the way things had gone down Sam smiles and heaves a sigh of relief.  Assuming there were no complications he’ll be reunited with Dean again by sunset.  

Over the years they’d learned they could never be too careful when it came to fighting the supernatural or evading the law.  Both of which they did on a regular basis.  

As a precaution they maintain a dozen or so semi-permanent hideouts all over the territories.  Stocked with preserved food, medical supplies, and additional ammunition their hideouts are, other than Uncle Bobby’s ranch, as close to home as they’re ever likely to get.  

The place they were headed to now is one of their favorites.  It’s well hidden and has cool clean water with plenty of sweet grass for their girls.  Sam is looking forward to getting back to relative safety.  

It’s a toss-up as to who will arrive there first.  Baby and Jess were both sure footed and fast, but Sam knows his brother will take precautions.  

They’ll both take a nice circuitous route back to their agreed upon rendezvous.  Better safe than sorry. 

The sun is starting to dim a bit by the time Sam nears their campsite.  He dismounts and takes a moment to stretch his legs and give Jess a good head scratch.  

She blows a contented sigh and nuzzles his shoulder.  

Sam pulls a looking glass from the leather case tied to his saddle and scans the area.  From this vantage he can see every approach.  There’s nothing moving.

He closes the glass and tucks it away.  He takes a long drink out of his canteen and pours a generous amount of water into Jess’s leather drinking pouch.  

She slurps it up, likes her lips, and shakes her head.  

Sam chuckles.  Jess is an excellent trail horse and, aside from Dean, his most trusted companion.  He gives her another pat and stows the canteen. 

The next part of their journey will be steep and difficult, but Jess easily covers rough terrain that would make most horses balk.  She’s sure footed and well practiced.  

Still, Sam doesn’t want to risk his weight throwing Jess off balance or worse end up accidentally pulled him off his feet by the reins.  He loops the reins around the saddle horn, pats Jess on the neck, and points her in the right direction.  

Jess scrambles to keep all four feet securely on the ground.  Her shoes scrape and spark against the hard granite under foot, but she makes it easily enough.  She stands patiently at the top of the ridge and waits for him.  

Sam quickly makes the climb and together they proceeded along the narrow ridge line.  

A few minutes later, they turn down into a small grassy valley.  The last few yards are almost as rough and steep as the climb up, but they both make it down without incident.  

When they emerge from the tree line and are immediately greeted by nicker of recognition from Baby.  

Sam sighs in relief.  If Baby was here, Dean is here.  He steps aside so Jess can push past him.  

She tosses her head and canters across the small pasture to rub noses with the other big bay.  

Sam chuckles and starts into the grassy field anxious to see his brother alive and well.

Dean steps out of the tiny canvass covering they call a tent and looks his way.  

Sam grins and waves.  

His brother smiles broadly and waves back.  He holsters his gun and turns to Jess.  He removes her tack and gives her a quick rub down with the saddle blanket.  

Jess stands still for the rub and then gives a full body shake before she trots off for a roll in the tall grass.  

Dean tilts his head back and laughs.

His brother’s laughter flows through the still afternoon air and wraps around Sam’s heart.  He shakes his head and sighs.  If only life was always as good and as simple as this moment.

Dean puts his hands on his hips and waits from Sam to come to him. 

Sam snorts and picks up his pace while his eyes drink in the sight.  His brother has his hat cocked back, his chest bare, and his six-guns slung low on his hips.  The afternoon sun rested warmly on Dean’s muscled shoulders and he looked absolutely perfect as always.  

He shakes his head.  Only his brother could look this good after having been arrested for murder, jailed, shackled, and nearly hanged.  

Dean flashes a grin.

Sam grins back and takes his hat off.  He removes his gloves, stuffs them in his hat, and tosses it into the grass.  He shrugs out of his vest and drops it to the ground.  He pulls off his shirt and uses it to mop up some of the trail sweat before he let it go too.    

Dean watches his every move with sharp roaming eyes.  

He knows his brother is looking for injuries so Sam automatically spins around to show he’s unharmed.  

His brother chuckles and opens his arms wide.  

Sam grins and takes the last few yards at a trot.  He bends and scoops Dean off his feet and into his arms.  

His brother lets out his breath in a whoosh and wraps his arms tightly around Sam’s neck.  

They hug each other close and relief floods through them both.

“Jesus Sammy.”  Dean sighs into his neck.  “It’s Damn good to see you.”

Sam chuckles.  

Dean is the master of understatements.  

Sam holds on, relishing the feel of his brother’s naked chest against his own, the steady thump of his heart, and the scent that is uniquely Dean.

“All right already…”  Dean squirms.  “I’m fine Sam.  _Fine._

Sam shakes his head and buries his nose in Dean’s neck.  He takes a deep breath of his brother and sighs.  He wants to hold on forever, but he knows Dean won’t take much more.  He reluctantly sets his brother back on his feet.

Dean looks up at him with sharp green eyes and grins.  “Nice work on short notice Sammy.  You really saved my bacon.”

Sam lifts his hands to cup Dean’s face and tilt it aside.  The rough hangman’s noose had rested around his brother’s neck just long enough to burn an image in Sam’s brain that he’s sure he’ll never shake.  He swallows hard.  The idea of his beautiful brother swinging at the end of a rope makes him sick to his stomach. 

He licks his lips and runs his fingertips across the reddened skin.  He bends down and proceeds to lick away the salt and sweat.  

Dean groans and rubs his cheek into Sam’s palm.  He clutches at Sam’s shoulders and goes pliant in his arms.

Sam carefully treats every inch of the wound.  

Dean moans obscenely and thrust against Sam’s rock hard cock.  

Sam slides his hands down his brother’s bare back and presses their hips together.  

They both gasp at the contact.  They stagger back under the canvas and drop to their knees. 

Dean removes their gun belts and carefully to places one on each side of their bed roll.  He pushes sam back so he can yank his boots off.  

They both shuck their trousers and they’re finally, gloriously naked.  

Sam grins at his brother.  

Dean pulls him down for a kiss.  

Sam collapses in his arms and moans.  He thrust his hips and Dean bucks under him.  

“Damn Sammy…need you…”  Dean gasps.  

Sam’s heart clenches as he studies his brother.  Dean had almost checked out of this world today.  He’d almost left Sam behind.  

“Jesus Dean…”  Sam grips his brother’s shoulders and devours his mouth.  He pours all the love and want and need he can into his brother.  He pulls back and gasps for breath.  “Almost lost you.” 

Dean doesn’t speak.  Instead he purrs and stretches and opens his legs.

Sam teases his brother’s center and grins when he finds him already slick and stretched.  

“Damn Dean…”  Sam pants into his brother’s neck and whispers against Dean’s ear.  “Love it when you’re ready for me…”  

“Come on Sammy…”  Dean urges.

Sam lines up and thrusts home.

Dean throws his head back and cries out.  

Sam moans as his brother’s heat wrapped around him.  So hot and tight.  He’ll never get tired of it.  Never want anyone else.  

He wraps Dean’s legs around his hips and his brother lifts up to meet his thrusts.

“Love you Dean.”  Sam grunts.  “Always.”

“Sammy…”  Dean gasps.  “Love you…don’t ever leave me…”

It’s always like this for them.  The rush of a Hunt.  The rescue.  The con.

It always comes down to the two of them.  Alive and wrapped in each others arms they’re everything they need.  The only thing they need. 

DONE 

Thank you for reading.  I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you Kripke and Co., J2, the Writers and Staff for bringing Supernatural to life.


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